Ringer's Story
by Kitty Kakopoulos-Kauffman
Summary: Ringer joins the Lodging House...


RINGER 

The steam from the train billowed out around the station as Ringer stepped onto the platform and into her new life. And she was not happy about it. After gathering her trunk, so generously provided by The World Newspaper organization, from the storage compartment of the train and sitting on it, she crossed her arms impatiently, waiting for an employee of the New York World to come and pick her up. Looking to the right, she noticed a break in the station buildings. If she ran right now… she sighed and gave up on that idea. She wouldn't make it and even if she did, where would she go? 

"Meredith Darby?" At first, Ringer didn't recognize her name when the skinny, balding man said it in his British accent. In fact, he had to say it four times before she answered to it. 

"Oh, yeah, that's me. But, ah, I like Ringer better," she said with a heavy accent. If Jonathon didn't know she was from Chicago, he might have been taken aback by the thin, long sounds of the Midwestern dialect. He'd dealt with the Chicago distribution center before; he thought all of them sounded like morons. He scrunched up his nose like a mouse…no, more like a rat. 

"I am Jonathan. I have come to pick you up and take you to Mr. Pulitzer's office. Are you quite ready?" 

Ringer quirked an eyebrow at him and laughed. "Do all a ya talk like that out here? Like some kinda civilized folk er somethin'?" 

Jonathan practically winced at her. "No. Now come along." 

Ringer trailed behind him for what seemed like a long time, especially with a trunk in her hand, when finally they arrived at a black carriage. "Wow…this is like da big time er somethin'. Like some kinda rich peoples. Where we goin' in this gig?" 

Jonathan stared at her as she put her trunk in the back of the carriage. "In this what?" 

She looked at him. "In this gig," she repeated, pointing at the carriage. "A gig, ya know? Like a…a doohickey, ya know, this…carriage, that's the word." 

He climbed in and she followed. "We are going to see Mr. Pulitzer." He looked down at her filthy clothes as the carriage started off. "Although you should have found something a bit more suitable for this occasion." 

"Hey, this is all I got, awright? I don't have no dresses er nothin'…not like I ever needed one, sellin' papers." She sized him up; tidy suit, neatly trimmed mustache, very uptight. "You ain't never worked on the street, have ya?" 

Jonathan looked as if he was going to be sick. "No, of course not. I am one of the head advisors to Mr. Pulitzer himself. I have wor-…" 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I heard enough already. You're one a them upper crust types, ain't ya? Always been spoon-fed. Ya probably have the easiest job in the world." 

"Hardly that!" He was obviously enraged. "I have-…" 

She cut him off again. "I think we're gonna be real good friends, Jonathan." 

He huffed and looked away out the window, preparing for what he knew would be a long day. 

~*~*~*~

The carriage pulled up to a massive house with a huge front stairway. Ringer sighed deeply as Jonathan climbed out of the car and gestured for her to follow. 

Entering the huge, gold-and-mahogany-embellished parlor of the Pulitzer mansion, she nearly fell backwards from the weight of the room. She swore under her breath in admiration. 

"Take a seat," Jonathan said, and walked up the spiral staircase in the corner of the room. Ringer didn't dare sit down for fear that she would ruin any of the exquisite furniture. She pulled her hat off her head and fidgeted with it for a few moments, glancing around nervously at everything. A noise behind her made her jump slightly. She looked up to see a man probably in his fifties in a maroon smoking jacket coming down the carpeted stairs with a grin on his face, and Jonathan trailing behind him. He approached her slowly. 

"Meredith, is it?" he asked, smiling. 

"No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. I mean…I'm used to bein' called Ringer. That's what they called me back home." 

His smile broadened. "Back home in Chicago, eh?" He paused. "Well, Meredith, I'm sure you know why you're here, hm?" She nodded and looked at the floor. He began to pace in front of her. "Mr. Davis didn't do a very good job of keeping you under control, did he?" She shook her head angrily, but did not look up at him. "Well, things are going to be different here." His smile faded, and quickly turned into a sneer, but his tone of voice barely changed. "We just had some difficulties here, a few months ago. We had to raise the salary of our newsboys, and girls," he added, gesturing towards her. "You can imagine how unhappy about that I was, can't you, Meredith?" He turned to look at her and shook his head. "Well, I suppose you can't. You don't understand big business." He smiled again, but more cruelly than before. "What with you being a street worker and a female, at that." He paused again. "Well, no matter." He began pacing again, then stopped, facing away from her. "You will work hard and you will cause no problems. Understood?" She said nothing. "UNDERSTOOD?" he bellowed. 

Nodding, she said, "Yes sir." 

"UNDERSTOOD?" he yelled louder, as if he hadn't heard her reply. 

"Yes sir," she said louder, balling her hands into fists. 

"You're dismissed. Get out. Jonathan, take her to the lodging house." He waved absentmindedly behind him, in her general direction. 

She walked stiffly back to the carriage, where she slumped into the seat, arms crossed. She glared out the window. Even though she'd gotten a worse tirade from Mr. Davis when she'd left Chicago, she'd never get used to it. She hated being told what to do, especially by men. They traveled in silence, which left Ringer to her thoughts, and by the time they'd arrived at the lodging house it was getting dark, and she was fuming. 

Jonathan climbed out and headed for the door, with Ringer close on his heels; the sooner she got to bed and the fewer people who got in her way, the better. As they approached the desk inside the lodging house, an older man with his sleeves rolled up and his glasses sliding down on his nose came to meet them. The sign on the desk read "Mr. Kloppman." 

"Can I help you?" he asked, casting a kind look at Ringer. She glared in return and looked about the room. About 30 newsies, boys and girls, sat around crates playing poker, throwing dice, and just plain socializing. But the minute she came in the door with Jonathon, they all fell silent. 

"Yes sir," started Jonathon, "This is Meredith Darby, she has been placed here under direct orders from Mr. Pulitzer. If there's anyway you could put her up…" 

Kloppman smiled and nodded. "Of course. Please sign in, miss." He held a tattered record book out to her, and she promptly snatched it away and signed it, then practically threw it back at him. His smile didn't fade for a second as he pointed to the stairs. "Upstairs and to the right, miss. You can take the third bed on the left, bottom bunk, if you don't mind." 

"I don't mind," she growled, and began dragging her trunk across the floor and up the stairs. 

As she left, she heard Jonathan tell Kloppman, "She's very feisty. From Chicago. If she gives you any trouble, alert Warden Snyder immediately." 

"Wonderful," she muttered to herself. "I been here for two hours and already they're cartin' me off to jail." She shoved open the door to the girl's room, which was empty, and stormed to her bed. She pushed the trunk to the end of it, and opened the lid. Digging around through her clothes, she hit something hard with her fingers. "What the-…" 

Calming down slightly, she lifted a small box that she'd never seen before out of the trunk. She sat down on her bunk and began looking at the contents. The first thing on top was a hankerchief, one that appeared as though it had been through years; the blue lining around the edge was fraying and there were holes in it. She didn't recognize it, and put it aside. 

Next was a stack of money, about twenty dollars in all. Her eyes grew wide. "Holy…" She nervously looked around, even though she knew she was alone, and then put the money underneath the box, in her lap. 

The next thing inside the box was a gold pocketwatch; this she recognized. Tears came to her eyes as she rubbed a finger over the lid. "Fidget…" she mumbled softly. The picture of the Ferris wheel that was engraved on the watch was exactly how she remembered it. The Columbian Exposition four years earlier had made Chicago home to the first Ferris wheel, created by Mr. George Ferris. Fidget had taken her to see it…they both rode it all day long; every time it went around, the operator let them stay on if no one was looking. 

"DINNER!" came a shout from downstairs. Ringer jolted and looked up. She wiped the tears from her eyes and cheeks, put the watch in her pocket, and put the box away in her trunk, deciding to look at the rest of the stuff later. Then she buried the money at the bottom underneath her clothes. 

~*~*~*~

"GIRLS!" 

Ringer jumped a foot in the air as she was jolted awake by Kloppman's call the next morning. She sighed, rubbing her eyes and sitting up. Yawning, she looked to her left, only to catch a girl with brown hair staring at her. "And who ah you?" the girl asked. "You were awful quiet las' night." Ringer ignored her and began making her bed. "Excuse me, I asked ya who ya ah." No answer. The brown-haired girl looked at her, confused. "Maybe she's deaf." 

"I ain't deaf," Ringer said. "I just don't like answerin' questions when they're directed at me so rude." 

The girl's mouth dropped open; she looked as if she were trying to say something but couldn't physically do it. 

After a minute, she regained her voice and turned to the rest of the girls. "Awright, time ta get ready befoah da guys take da bathroom. Get goin'." The girls all scrambled down the hall. 

Guys? Ringer thought to herself, quirking her eyebrow. 

As the rest of the girls had cleared out, Ringer followed them down the hall to the bathroom, tip-toeing past the sleeping boys. The brunette hurried everyone along while Ringer took her first New York shower. Don't feel so different she thought. Just then, a knock on the door made her jump. 

"'Ey, new goil…I don't know how dey do it wheah you come from, but around heah we try to get ready sometime befoah dinnah. Willya hurry it up? Ya been in dere five minutes awready." 

Ringer didn't answer. She would stay in the shower as long as she damn well pleased. About five minutes later, she had dried off and wrapped her towel around her. She pushed open the door and grinned at the sight before her. About twenty boys of all ages were scrambling to cover themselves with the nearest towel or article of clothing, eyes wide and jaws dropped at the sight of a girl coming out of the shower…and a half-naked girl at that. "Heya, fellas." No one said anything. Ringer shrugged. "All right then, nice to meet you all too, I'll be on my way now." 

About five minutes later, after she'd dressed, Ringer walked past the boys' room again, and stopped when she heard voices. 

"Must be a new girl," said one. 

"What a funny accent," said another. 

"Well, she ain't from heah, dat's fah suah," said a third. 

Ringer stepped inside the room and leaned against the doorframe. "The name's Ringer," she started, and all three boys jumped. "And no, I ain't from around here. I'm from Chicago." 

"We was…" started a blonde one, with an eye patch. 

"We didn't…" said the tallest one, with light brown hair. 

"We's…" said the third, with curly brown hair and a crutch. 

None of them finished their sentences, so Ringer did it for them. "You was just wondering," she said, pointing at the one with the eye patch, "You didn't mean anything by it," she continued, gesturing towards the next one, "And you's sorry," she finished, with a motion towards the one with the crutch. She smiled. "It's all right fellas. You ain't the first boys I ever lived with, and you ain't gonna be the last." She spit in her palm and held it out to the boys, who each shook it in turn, grateful she wasn't angry with them. They introduced themselves as Blink, Cowboy ("But you can call me Jack Kelly, which is what me muddah called me,"), and Crutchy. "Well, seeya boys in the trenches." With that, she trounced down the stairs, where she was almost tackled by a large white dog she'd managed to miss the night before, and out into the street. 

She followed the rest of the girls down the street to the distribution area of the New York branch of the World. With a deep sigh, she walked up the ramp to the window, and waited in line to get her papers. 

"Next!" came the shout from the manager of distribution, a heavyset man with graying stubble on his face. She stepped up to the window and smiled. 

"200 please." Everything stopped dead. The newsies who had already gotten their papers stopped reading the headlines to look up at her from where they were seated. Those in line leaned over, left and right, to try and catch a glimpse of what was going on. She heard someone mutter, "Show off." The manager looked at her as if she'd just handed him a thousand-dollar bill. His two lackeys, one of which, she noted, was pretty cute, stared at her. The not-so-cute one dropped the stack of papers that was in his hands. 

"Very funny," the manager said. "How many really? 50, 100?" 

"Two hundred papers please," she said, very seriously. 

Still unconvinced, the manager chuckled. "That will be one dollar." He smirked evilly. No newsie carried around that much money, especially not the girls. Everyone waited with bated breath for Ringer's reaction. 

To the astonishment of everyone watching, Ringer reached into her pocket and pulled out a crisp new one-dollar bill and set it on the counter, pushing it towards the manager. "There ya go." Jaws dropped and people gasped. It took the lackeys, even the cute one, a good minute to get two hundred papers counted and across the counter to her. She lugged the heavy pile off the counter top and hoisted them onto her shoulder. "Thank you," she said sweetly, then turned and walked down the stairs, pushing through an amazed crowd. 

"She ain't gonna sell 'em all…is she?" asked a little one, Snipeshooter. 

"Nah…" started Cowboy. "Dere ain't no way." He glanced apprehensively at Ringer before heading off to his normal spot around the boxing ring. 

When he got there, however, he saw Ringer already working the crowd. He swore. Seething, he walked up to her and tapped her on the shoulder. "Excuse me." 

She turned and smiled. "Hey…eh…Cowboy, right?" 

He nodded. "Yeah…and dis is my usual spot." 

"Oh, oh…I'm sorry. It's just that…well, back home in Chicago, I spent most of my time around the boxing ring." 

"Ah." He appeared bored. 

"Well…I guess I'll be on my way now." She sighed and turned around, walking in the direction she believed to be north. As she left the crowd, she realized that maybe it wouldn't be so easy to get around this new city. But she wasn't about to turn around and ask Cowboy for directions. 

Well, it can't be that hard…it's all a grid, just like Chicago. She couldn't have been more wrong. 

She stopped outside a large department store a few minutes later and started shouting headlines. She went through 75 in about an hour, shouting until her throat was sore. When business started dwindling around lunch, she moved down the street in front of a sandwich shop, and sold about 50, then went inside and had a ham sandwich with her extra money. With her remaining papers, she turned down a street booming with market wares. Moving between the fish shops and the butchers' carts, she dished out 40 or so more. Late into the afternoon, she came upon a smaller corner store where she finished selling the rest of her papers. Proud of herself, she rounded the corner into a big square, sat down on a bench and started counting her profits. 

She grinned at the shining change in her hand that totalled up to two whole, glorious dollars. Quickly she dumped them in her pocket and stood up to head to Darren's Rib House. The first thought that hit her was: "I ain't home no more, there ain't no Darren's." The second thought that hit her was: "I don't know where I am." And the third thought that hit her, though she would never admit it later, was: "I'm gonna die." She became frantic, looking around for something familiar: the statue outside the lodging house or the gates of the World distribution area. Finding nothing, she sat back down to think. Judging by the sky, she figured she had about an hour of daylight left. 

Feeling humbled, she walked slowly to the deli on the corner. She sighed and stepped inside, walking to the counter. She rang the bell and a man stepped out from the back room with a weary smile on his face. When he saw her, his smile fell. "No handouts. How many times do I gotta tell youse kids dat? Get outta heah." 

"No sir," she started quickly. "I was wonderin' if you could tell me how to get back. I guess I lost my way." 

He glared. "I ain't fallin' for it again! Get outta my store!" he shouted. She ran outside, fighting back tears. 

"People in Chicago sure ain't like this," she muttered to herself. Not only would Pete back home have given her directions (though she would never need directions around her beautiful city), but he would have given her a sandwich as well. She walked out into the street and looked around. If only she knew which direction the Lodging House was. She faced the setting sun, west, and sighed. I think I went north this mornin'. So don't that mean I have to go south now? She faced herself south and started walking quickly, hands in her pockets. As the sky got dimmer and the air got colder, she got more and more afraid. She turned left, then right; another right then straight on for a few blocks, then another left, growing more frantic with each step. To keep from terrifying herself to death, she started thinking about being back in Chicago, walking past the beautiful buildings built along the river, and the rock pilings on the lake where she sat and watched the sunset every day without fail. She sighed as she realized that she might never see the lake again. 

Suddenly she looked up, snapped back into reality, and found herself in a dingy alley after dark in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere. She swore under her breath. Why can't I ever pay attention? 

Back in the lodging house after dark, Kloppman was looking around the girls' bunk with a frown on his face and his eyebrowes furrowed. "Where's that new girl? Eh…" he struggled for Ringer's name. "Chicago. Anyone seen her?" Everyone shook their heads. "No one saw her out selling today?" Again, only negative answers. "I guess I'd better go ask the boys." He walked down the hall into the boys' sleeping quarters. "Have any of you seen that new girl from Chicago anywhere? She isn't back yet." 

All of them shook their heads except for Jack. "I seen her." 

"Where?" Kloppman asked. 

"Well, she was in me spot today and I tol' her ta find a new one." 

Kloppman sighed. "Jack…" he started. 

"I didn't mean to-…" he started, but Kloppman was already on his way downstairs, muttering to himself. 

"I guess I'll have to take care of this myself…again…" 

Ringer shivered and leaned back against the alley wall as tears came quickly. She had been sitting there for two hours, not sure what to do. Why am I in this city anyway? I hate this place. It ain't nothing like home…I'm gonna die here in this alley and no one is gonna- 

Without warning, she felt a thick hand go around her arm. "Hey, goahgeous," she heard from behind her. "A little fah from home, ain't ya?" She wheeled around and instinctively began to struggle against the man who now had hold of her, swinging at him with tight fists. "'Ey! 'Ey! Relax, I'm heah ta help ya!" 

She stopped struggling slowly, and brushed the hair out of her eyes to find herself looking into the beautiful green eyes of the cute lackey from back at the distribution center. "Oh…" she started, but didn't have anything to say. 

"It's awright, come on, I'll take ya home." She nodded and followed him out of the alley. "Hey, Morris!" he shouted. "I got her!" The other, not-so-cute one came out of an alley just down the street. 

Ringer wiped the tears out of her eyes, hoping the boys hadn't seen her crying. Too late. The cute one was already handing her his hankerchief. She nodded her thanks and took it. "I'm Oscah," he said, holding out his hand to her. "Oscah Delancey." She blushed and shook his hand. 

"Ringer." 

He chuckled. "Everyone's got deir little names ain't dey? You got a real name or is it just Ringer?" 

She blushed deeper. "Well…it's Meredith. Meredith Darby. But I ain't been called that in years." 

With a smile, he said, "I like it…Meredith." Next to them, Morris coughed conspicuously. Oscar rolled his eyes. "Oh, dis is my brother, Morris." Morris took her hand and kissed it, and she did everything in her power to keep her lunch down. Oscar quickly took her arm. "We should really hurry along, Meredith, it ain't safe fah any of us to be on da streets dis late." Morris growled and followed like the big oaf he was. As they walked, Oscar told Ringer how Kloppman knew she might have some trouble finding her way, and when she hadn't come home that evening, he'd sent them out to find her. 

"'Ey, ya didn't sell all those papes today, did ya?" Morris asked. 

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did," Ringer said with a grin. "I sold that many every day back in Chicago." 

"No," Morris said, "Dat ain't possible." 

She shrugged. "I managed it somehow." 

"Chicago, eh?" Oscar asked thoughtfully. "What ah you doin' heah?" 

"I guess I was too much for them to handle back home." She grinned. They couldn't stand me anymore, so they sent me here." 

He chuckled. "I guess dat explains the funny accent…" 

"Hey! You take that back!" 

~*~*~*~

Soon they were back in front of the Lodging House. 

"Heah ya go, Meredith." 

"Thanks Oscar. For everything." Morris grumbled. "You too, Morris." 

"Bring someone wit ya tomorrow, okay?" Oscar said with a smile. 

She nodded. "Sure. Goodnight Oscar." 

He bent down and kissed her hand. "Goodnight." The two Delancey brothers walked away and Ringer floated into the Lodging House. 

When she walked into the main room, they were waiting for her with anxiety. "Ah you awright?" one boy asked frantically. 

"What happened?" questioned another. 

"Did dey hoit ya?" asked a girl. 

"Of course I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be?" Ringer asked, confused. 

The brown-haired girl, who was sitting at the far end of the room on a crate, looked up. "Da Delanceys didn't hoit ya?" 

Ringer quirked an eyebrow. "No, they were very nice. Now if you'll all excuse me, I'm going to bed." 

Dusk chuckled and said, "Ya just full a surprises, ain't ya, Chicago?" 

Ringer only shrugged and went to bed, knowing they'd be whispering about her for at least another half hour, giving her time to fall asleep. 

Kloppman's shout jolted Ringer out of bed the next day. She sat up and looked across the room to the brown-haired girl, who was stretching and getting out of bed. Ringer crossed the room and approached the girl. 

"Hey, listen…I'm real sorry about yesterday. I've been awful." She spit in her palm and held it out to the girl. "My name's Ringer." 

The other girl looked suspiciously at her, before finally being satisfied and spitting in her own hand. "I know. Jack told me. I'm Dusk." 

"Nice to meet you," said Ringer, shaking Dusk's hand. "I can't apologize enough. I've just had a rough couple of months…or few years…or…" she stopped. "Anyway, I wanted to make sure we didn't get off on the wrong foot." 

Dusk shook her head. "Well, we did, but…it don't matter." She smiled at Ringer, then turned and started ushering the ladies out of the bedroom. Ringer followed the other girls down the hall to get ready, and could hear them talking just ahead of her. As she walked up to the sink to wash her face, a girl with curly red hair and green eyes named Irish called to her. 

"Hey! What happened yestahday? We all tought you was a gonah fah suah." 

Ringer shook her head. "Nope, just close to it. I got lost." She recounted the story to the amazed crowd, finishing up with, "Then they walked me home. Nice guys." 

Laughter cut through the silence of the room, and Ringer looked up at the girl across from her, a taller girl with curly black hair named Quips. A little indignant, Ringer asked, "What's so funny?" 

Quips grinned. "Sounds like ouah Delancey boys is getting' soft." 

"Whaddaya mean?" Ringer asked. 

Beaner, a brunette, frowned. "Usually da Delanceys make a habit a hoitin' da goils dey's supposed to rescue." 

Dusk cut in. "Oah any goil fah dat mattah." 

Seven of Nine frowned. "'Specially da ones dey tink ah cute." 

"Dey don't care if you ah a goil or not, dey'll soak ya," said Riff. 

Ringer's eyes widened. How could something so horrible be true about someone so… so…what? she asked herself. So gorgeous? Beauty don't equal kindness… She snapped back to attention. 

"All we know is dat dey're dangerous, so I suggest ya stay away from 'em, awright, Chicago? Dey coitainly keep us on ouah toes around heah." 

Ringer shook her head as Dusk hollered for everyone to hurry up and get out before the boys took over. 

Ten minutes later as she walked up the ramp, she suddenly became worried. Oscar would be inside the office working. How could she face him after hearing all these terrible things about him? She had trusted him…what if circumstances were different and he had done something to her? She felt so stupid and naïve. 

Suddenly she was at the window and the manager was shouting at her. "How many?" 

She lost her thoughts for a moment. "Two hundred please." She pushed her dollar over the counter and looked up…right into Oscar's eyes. He smiled warmly at her and all her doubts melted away. The point is that he didn't do anything ta me. He coulda, but he didn't. That's gotta mean somethin'. 

She took her papers and walked down the stairs, sitting down on a barrel in between two boys. She introduced herself; they were Racetrack and David; and then began reading the headlines. 

It was a moment or two before she noticed someone looking over the top of her paper at her. Slowly she lifted her head to see a small boy of about 9 or 10 grinning at her. "Can I help you?" she asked. 

He spit into his palm. "Les Jacobs." She spit into her hand and shook his. 

"Nice ta meet ya, Les."

* * *

_More coming soon_  
  
**©2000 Kitty Kakopoulos-Kauffman**


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